


Quilt

by bearundersiege



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-07 13:30:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearundersiege/pseuds/bearundersiege
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loras had always hated Renly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quilt

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for AFFC, written after Cersei got the news about Loras in Dragonstone, so it might not be compliant with the fifth book. 
> 
> I apologize for any incoherence and cheesiness. 
> 
> (taken from my Tumblr)

He had seemed so tall to him when he was younger, a tower as steadfast and impregnable as the Eyrie. Yet when he spoke, all the threat he posed vanished in a sharp jape and quick laughter that won even those they’ve only just encountered. At every feast they went to, highborn ladies and serving girls alike fell victim to his charm. By the end of the night, all of them were half-in love with Lord Renly Baratheon. It made Loras want to retch. 

Loras was never want for attention himself as well, however. His skill with the lance garnered him a flock of challengers— fellow squires, bigger boys hoping to curb his arrogance and claim the honour of unseating the youngest Tyrell boy.

Every single one of them fell before him.

It was after one such match that Renly found him in the practice yard, emptying the contents of his waterskin. The day was hot, and the padding he wore in place of armor made it even hotter. His latest opponent—a squire of some minor stormland lord— had long since fled, leaving him and group of female admirers fawning over his latest conquest.

At the approach of his master however, they parted, clearing a path for Renly. Loras felt a stab of irritation when they shifted their gaze away from him. 

“Squire,” Renly called. Loras gritted his teeth, a habit an old kindly servant had once told him Stannis Baratheon practiced as well. With Robert and Renly for brothers, Loras could not blame the lord. “I heard you made another one cry.”

“It is an easier feat than you might think, my lord,” he forced himself to answer with a smile. “Particularly when they have not the skill to match their tongues.”

His master laughed at that. Several of the girls joined in, some blushing and whispering to their friends. Loras wanted to snap at them to get back to whatever it was they had to do. Only the sense of chivalry his mother had drilled into him since birth kept him from saying the words.

“What say you we go for a round then?”

His head shot up to meet Renly’s eyes. “My lord?”

“I’ve heard all about my squire’s prowess with the lance,” he said, smiling. “It seems only fair I test the tales for myself.”

Loras’ own grin was predatory. “Just so, my lord.”

He waited while Renly got himself equipped with the necessary gear. The Lord of Storm’s End was never one for the practice courts. At least, not that Loras knew of. More often than not he was in the library or at King’s Landing, though what he did as Master of Laws remained a mystery to his squire. 

Loras wiped the sweat from his brow before putting the helm back, field of vision narrowing as he pushed the visor in place. Then it was just him and Renly.

The practice lance was as natural a weight as his own arm, and he could wield it just as well. Yet when he felt it crash upon Renly’s shield, the load he expected behind the target wasn’t there. Instead there was empty air when it landed a glancing blow that pulled Loras forward. It was his last thought before a sudden blunt pain crashed through his shield arm and he began to fall.

Renly approached him after, smiling his irritating smile and offering a hand up. Loras took it if only to attempt crushing the appendage. Renly didn’t even seem to notice.

“Well done, squire,” Loras felt his eyebrow tick. Renly had always called him by his station rather than name, but after the loss it seemed a mockery of his inexperience more than a mannerism. “You almost unhorsed me.”

“Almost is not the same as achieving it, my lord,” he pointed out. Renly chuckled.

“That is so,” he admitted. Then, with a backward glance at Loras as he was going out, he added, “Best get on with practice then. We wouldn’t want a repeat of this stunning defeat at the hands of someone else, would we?”

Gritting his teeth, Loras Tyrell vowed to himself that he would best Renly Baratheon in every manner of combat even if it killed him.

—-

His temper wasn’t going away.

He had tried with sword, spear, and lance. He had even gone to the library in a desperate attempt to rid himself of the wave of emotions threatening to drown him by reading up on the Seven Kingdom’s history. But every time he thought himself free, the image of Renly Baratheon popped into his mind, and the rage woke anew.

Loras had challenged his master to a joust that morning. It had been half a year since his humiliation at the hands of the youngest Baratheon, and every day for most of the day since then he trained relentlessly, only stopping whenever he was required to attend to his duties and lessons. He had even claimed a few new conquests since, most impressive of which were the two knights who had visited Storm’s End.

The sound of Renly Baratheon hitting the dirt was the sweetest Loras had ever heard.

He expected Renly to glare, to scowl, to have that irritating smirk of his wiped from his face with the knowledge that a squire, a boy four years his junior, had bested him. 

Instead, he laughed and congratulated Loras, patting him on the back.

He thought he had gotten over the habit of gritting his teeth, but it came to him now as naturally as the memory. Afterwards, about a dozen girls congregated around Renly, asking if he was alright, offering to bring the maester to him. None of them had done the same for him after Renly unhorsed him. Even the guards and master-at-arms paused only to tell him a quick ‘well done’ before moving on to their fallen lord.

No matter what he did, he could never truly defeat Renly Baratheon.

—-

Loras wondered what happened.

It was just another feast, another tourney a lord had thrown to showcase his wealth— and possibly his daughter to a yet unmarried nobleman. Loras could have gone through the motions in his sleep. Take care of Renly’s horse, prepare his sleeping quarters, lay out his garments, and a slew of other tiresome duties he was sure Renly could manage on his own but fell upon him to do because he was there to be useful. 

Normally, he would bolt to wherever his master was not present as soon as Renly gave him leave to go. But not tonight.

Tonight, he watched as Renly worked out smiles from the dourest of lords and made giggling girls of the haughtiest of ladies. Loras stood silent as he was whisked from person to person, the colour of his eyes shifting from green to blue whenever the light hits them just so. When Renly caught his eye and smiled, something clenched painfully in his chest, and Loras was sure he had contracted a heart condition from being in Renly Baratheon’s presence too long and too often.

When Renly danced his first dance of the night, Loras was sure it was not only a condition of the heart but also of the mind he had been burdened with. How else could he explain the pang of anger and hurt he felt when Renly smiled at the lady? 

Renly found him in one of the balconies overlooking the sea. Waves broke on the cliff and peppered the air with the smell of brine, but neither of them made to move. The moon was full and cast a yellow haze on the docks below. Loras noticed Renly’s eyes had settled into their usual green.

“You are unusually quiet tonight,” Renly commented, leaning on the balustrade separating them from a hundred foot drop. 

“The road has wrung me of my usual wit, my lord,” he replied. “A night of drinking has not made its recovery any swifter.”

Loras had counted on Renly laughing, to ease the tension that had risen from between them. He did not. Loras flinched when Renly’s hand reached out for him, and wanted to physically pound the disappointment he felt when Renly drew back.

“Goodnight, Loras,” he told him instead and turned to leave.

It was only some time later that he realized Renly had not called him ’squire’.

—-

Renly kissed him.

Just the thought of it was enough to send Loras into a blushing frenzy, hacking at a straw soldier with such fervour one would think it had plotted to kill the king. The household guards looked at him curiously but said nothing. It was not so unusual for the young Tyrell to be so energetic these days, although it did drive some of them to edge away when they thought he wasn’t looking. Loras could not blame them. He was beginning to think he was mad as well.

Renly had come to him the morning after the feast, apologizing for the night before. Loras did the same, although he could tell neither of them knew what they were apologizing for. After that, their usual routine settled around them, and Loras was grateful for the return of his normal life.

Until a week ago.

He was certain Renly had called him as a jape, as was his custom when he knew Loras was busy and wanted to irk him by bidding him to do menial tasks. Renly must have thought the same. 

“Would you fetch my new gloves for me, Loras?” Renly gave him an innocent smile. Loras wondered if his father would be furious should he accidentally break his lord master’s nose. “I was told they would be ready today.”

“Of course, my lord,” Loras felt his teeth clench as he attempted a smile. Renly snorted to hide his laughter. “Would you like me to do anything else afterward? Perhaps straighten your bedchamber? It seems as if the servants have forgotten to clean it. For several weeks.”

“Oh no, that will not be necessary,” Renly suddenly brightened as something from the corner of the room caught his gaze. “But would you be so kind as to fetch mulled wine for your poor old master? I’m afraid my bones are no longer as strong as they were.”

“If you feel the effects of the years at eight-and-ten, I fear for you in your old age, my lord,” Loras said, but grabbed the flagon on his way out.

He returned to Renly poring over some scrolls, as intent on his work as Loras was with jousting. He looked up when Loras placed the gloves and flagon in front of him. 

“Very good,” he exclaimed. “Pour a cup for your dear old master now, Loras. And for yourself if you’d have some.”

He did, though he refused the offer to have some himself. When he looked up, Renly was staring at him. Loras felt a prickle of nervousness, wondering if he had done something wrong. Those green eyes made him feel all of the things he hadn’t allowed himself to think about when he was alone, and he was sure Renly could see through his thoughts. 

“Loras,” Renly said, tone uncertain. When Loras dared to meet his gaze, they were too close, and the hairbreadth of space separating their lips melted away.

He didn’t see Renly alone for a month after that, though he appeared in most of his dreams, sweetening them like honey to milk. 

His dreams now were not quite so sweet.

Every moment was a nightmare from when the boiling oil hit him. Loras was sure he would die, but somehow he didn’t and that was even more painful. Every breath was a struggle, every movement death that visited him each time he awoke. He prayed to feel nothing, to join so many others who had gone to the seven hells to escape their suffering.

He prayed to be with Renly again.

Loras hated Renly. He hated how he was the first person to unhorse him, hated how he laughed after he had worked day and night to best him, hated how he was always second best next to him. He hated how it took Renly a month to get him alone after their first kiss, a year to tell him he loved him, a minute to break his heart when he disclosed his plan to wed Margaery. Most of all, he hated how Renly had _left_ him. 

But more than any of that, Loras hated himself for fighting the pain, for wanting to live. He still loved Renly more than anyone, but he had others who were waiting for him, who needed him. Loras nearly screamed when the tear fell onto his burned skin. He had to be strong. Margaery was waiting for him. Tommen was waiting for him. 

Someday, he would choose Renly to spend an eternity with. But right now, he would fight for those he would not.


End file.
